First Dance
by Zela
Summary: Sam Jr. goes to a ball and adventures ensue. Small core of slashiness. CHAPTER 6 UP! Will Sam follow his heart? Or his head? What are his options? Have I stopped changing summary? NO!
1. Sam Tests His Limits

AN: OK, this is my first Pterry fic. And yes people, WE HAVE SLASH HERE!!! I'm not going to say who with, because: a) if I don't tell you it'll pull more readers in and b) if I tell you I'll be chased around by a screaming mob of fangirls bent on my destruction.  
  
Oh yeah. This is actually quite small. It's not an epic, it's not a huge angsty/romancy saga, it's just a little idea that's been bouncing around my head. The only reason there's going to be a lot of chapters is that I prefer to post small and get more reviews ::hint hint:: XD.  
  
Anyway, enjoy!  
  
"Oh mum. Do I have to go?"  
  
"For the last time, yes! Now stop being silly and come down to the coach." Sybil Ramkin was normally what people referred to as 'a nice girl' or had been in her younger days. Now, however, she was a mother, in all her full, magnificent glory, and she wasn't going to try to reason with her 16-year- old son.  
  
"But mum -"  
  
"Don't you 'but mum' me! This will be your first real ball, you are one of the guest's of honour and I'm not going to have you embarrass us by not attending! And while you are there you will be on your best behaviour. Understood?"  
  
Young Sam Vimes sighed. Why did his mother always have to act like this? If he was any judge she had an excellent mind, somewhat dulled by lack of use, and an unfortunately large dosage of common sense. Why, then, did she insist on acting like a Lady? True, she had an almost subconscious grasp of the social niceties, and was always attempting to get Sam -junior and senior - to adhere to them, but Sam had no objections to that. What he couldn't understand was why she felt she had to be as silly and innocuous as possible around nobility who were her inferiors in rank, wealth and brains. Why, if she behaved the way she did at home, she might even become an example for the others!(1) She could improve things for the people (and, if he would admit it, himself) to no end!  
  
With this in mind, Sam went in for a last-ditch effort. "It's not like Havelock will care, mother," he said, attempting his best condescending- whilst-being-respectful tone, which was bloody difficult and took years to master. "You know he only decided to have a ball in the first place because those awful air headed Ladies got their husbands to pressure him."  
  
Sybil glared at her son, but the voice that was issued through lips white with rage was surprisingly calm, if somewhat low. "This ball was prepared for your benefit. Yours and all the other 'younglings' who are just now coming of age. Months of hard work went into making it a night you would enjoy. Time, resources and money were spent without thought, every last detail was seen to. But obviously those other awful air headed ladies and I," Sam's eyes widened, "forgot the important fact that balls are only created so that selfish, irresponsible young men can avoid them." Sybil curtsied to her son. "I apologise, my lord, for not realising this sooner. Please, go and enjoy yourself tonight eating a cold dinner. You obviously won't be joining us old people at the ball."  
  
"Mother!" Sam cried, reaching for her, but there was a distance in her eyes. "Please! Don't treat me so coldly! You're my mother, not some serving- girl! And I am not a lord!"  
  
Sybil stared icily at him for a moment more. Then she turned, and swept towards the carriage. "Come," she said. Then, "And don't you dare call Lord Vetinari, 'Havelock'. That is a name that is earnt, not given. It is used by lords and men, and you have proven yourself neither. Even if you do speak with the arrogance of Lord Rust at his finest."  
  
Sam hurried behind his mother, ashamed and subdued. It seemed he was starting to find his limits.  
  
(1)It wasn't until much later in life that Sam realised the grammatical error of this thought, and not until much later that he realised how accurate his error would have been had Sybil Ramkin ever attempted to make an example of anything.  
  
NB: Yes, I know Sybil was out of character. Remember: we don't actually see many shots of her doing the 'grumpy mother' thing in the series. I kind've had to improvise. As for young Sammywammikins, (I'm sorry, I'm just in love with that boy X)) the brilliant thing about him is that you can write anything about him, and it doesn't yet contradict his character. Cool, no?  
  
Anyway, it seems to be the fashion these days to make overly large comments about that button at the end of the page. . So.yeah. There it is. You're not blind. You know what I'm talking about. ..Right? 


	2. The Observers Introduced

Well, here's Chapter 2. Thank you for the review! I'm currently acting under the theory that for every one review you get, three people couldn't be bothered. It works. Oh, and Sam and Sybil are going fine, I'm just not that good at writing in character.  
  
Ah yes. I own nothing.  
  
CHAPTER 2 - The Observers Introduced  
  
"Lord and Lady Charles Selachii!" cried the Herald, in full voice.  
  
"That makes twelve," murmured Commander Sir Duke Samuel Vimes of the City Watch.  
  
Lord Havelock Vetinari, seated next to him at the side of the ballroom raised and eyebrow at the Commander.  
  
Vimes clarified. "The twelfth Lord or Lady to be announced in order of rank." He eyed the rest of the room, filled with people talking or dancing happily, with a carefully judging eye. "Not counting the toadies and Guild representatives and things. But then, they were here before I arrived. And I was here three hours before the ball was due to start."  
  
Vetinari smiled. "Some people seem to be positively terrified of being late to an engagement, don't you think, Commander?"  
  
Vimes grinned wryly. "Quite." He scanned the room again. "Although I notice a quite conspicuous absence. One which, I am forced to admit, both does and doesn't surprise me. Captain Carrot generally isn't this late." He slid a glance at the Patrician. "And I know you invited him."  
  
"Oh indeed. However, I believe the good Captain may currently be experiencing some carriage troubles, or something of the sort. Not that I can make anything more than a conjecture, of course."  
  
"Of course. But, you know something, I've just realised that if Carrot comes any later, all the other nobles will have already come in. Which, funnily enough, would put him in a position where he'd outrank them all! Isn't that a funny thing?"  
  
"Quite droll, Commander. Although I'm not sure that the other lords will appreciate your sense of humour."  
  
"Perhaps not," Vimes was obviously enjoying himself tremendously, "but perhaps they won't even realise." He paused. "Oh, no, it looks like the heads of the Guild of Watchmakers and the Guild of Heralds have put two and two together. I do hope they don't - no, too late, it seems as though word is getting around. What a pity."  
  
Vetinari looked at Vimes with slightly raised eyebrows. "Whenever you have calmed down, Commander."  
  
Vimes waved his hand vaguely at the other man. "No no, don't mind me," he chuckled. "I know you won't anyway."  
  
"Oh, I don't know, Commander. I think only a man with absolutely no pride could ignore you for very long." Vetinari paused. "I was going to point out, Commander, that the good Captain will have to be very late indeed in order to 'outrank', as you put it, your family. Who, I might add, you should be with."  
  
Vimes shrugged. "I blame the lateness on Sam. He's at that age, you know. Won't be led, can't be pushed. Otherwise Sybil'd be here on time, as I'm sure you'd know. And of course, I would be there, helping, but she gets rather titchy when she thinks I'm interfering." He grinned. "Besides, I was interested to see whether Selachii and Rust and all them would just 'accidentally' turn up in order of rank the way they have the last five times."  
  
Vetinari shot him a look. "I have no doubt that you could have quite easily found out from one of the other guests. And of course you would have had even more accurate knowledge if you had been with your family. You may be enjoying the show from where you are sitting, but you are missing out on a grand entrance by arriving early."  
  
"Yeah, funny about that." The man's face was the picture of innocence. "Still, it couldn't really be helped. You know I just dropped by the palace a couple of hours ago to check in on something, then one thing led to another, and it got to the point where I figured I may as well just stick around seeing as the ball was starting so soon."  
  
The Patrician's voice could have cracked rocks. "The spare clothes that just happened to be here were most fortuitous as well."  
  
Vimes couldn't keep the grin in anymore. "Yep. Don't you just love it when things like that happen? Still, I reckon you had better luck with me than Carrot, hey?"  
  
"I really don't know what you could be talking about, Commander."(1)  
  
Vimes looked carefully at the man in black, then settled back into his chair, grinning contentedly. He'd definitely ruffled Vetinari's feathers. Yep. It wasn't everyday you got one up on the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.(2)  
  
(1)The first time Vetinari had attempted the 'ranking' game, Carrot, through sheer will-power, just arrived in front of Vimes and his family and had used a side-door to enter instead. The next day he had gone to see the Patrician about the 'mistake'. It was a tense meeting. Servants reported angry bouts of quiet, long periods of hush and many violent silences. One man was summoned for a brief time during the meeting, and the Guild of Loonies is finding him a quite interesting case.  
  
(2) And survived. 


	3. A Short but Entertaining Journey

A/N: Well, here's a (very) short Chapter 3. BTW, does anyone know what the royal colors of Ankh-Morpork are?  
  
CHAPTER 3 - A Short But Entertaining Journey  
  
The silence was definitely getting awkward. Sam and his mother had been sitting on opposite sides of the carriage, looking out different windows ever since the little display before leaving the house, and Sam didn't know just how much longer he could take it.  
  
Finally, "I'm sorry mum."  
  
A sigh. "That's all right, dear. I suppose after your father I should have expected it."  
  
Sam was surprised, to say the least. "Dad acts like an aristocrat?"  
  
"No, but he also has a tendency to get what he wants and be frighteningly blunt when the occasion demands it. Still, I swear you take after Ronnie more than you do Sam."  
  
Now Sam was truly startled. "I'm related to Lord /Rust?!?/"  
  
Sybil glanced at him condescendingly. "Of course, dear. You're related to most of the lords and ladies of Ankh-Morpork. Your father isn't joking when he calls us a pack of inbreds."  
  
"Wow." The boy was truly stunned. Then a thought struck him. "So, do you reckon Ronnie - I mean, Lord Rust will be at the ball?" he asked mischievously.  
  
Sybil stared levelly at her son for a moment. "/No/, Sam."  
  
Attempting to act the innocent, Sam said, "Really? But I was sure I heard you mentioning -"  
  
"You know exactly what I was talking about. Yes, Lord Rust and his family will be at the ball and no, you are not going to go reminding him of certain - family resemblances - between you."  
  
"Yes mum."  
  
"There's a good boy." Sybil reached out and fondly patted her son on the cheek. "Now just you go back to staring out the window like a good bored aristocrat."  
  
***  
  
A/N(the second): Thank you my reviewers!  
  
::Bows to the Sender of Eight:: You're completely correct, of course. It's an absolute outrage that I only had one review. Disgusting. However, thankfully socially-conscious people such as yourself have realised the deep and lasting psychological problems that can occur when enough reviews don't materialize, and have set about to remedy my mental destruction. XD  
  
sunny-historian: Unfortunately due to harsh editing the slashiness will no longer be as slashy X(. But it will still exist in small form. And as for when you have no reviews, that just means you have three lazy hounds reading and your fourth, the one who reviews, should be coming soon!(  
  
Vee4: 1st reviewer!! Yay! Younglings is just a cool word I thought up for the children of the nobles of AM. (There are others.) Sorry it disturbed you. Promise they won't be slaughtered. XD  
  
Mobius Shadow: This is the description for G-rated fics: 'All ages admitted. This signifies that the film rated contains nothing most parents will consider offensive for even their youngest children to see or hear. Nudity, sex scenes, and scenes of drug use are absent; violence is minimal; snippets of dialogue may go beyond polite conversation but do not go beyond common everyday expressions.' I don't see how slash breaks this rating. But hey. 


	4. Arrival

A/N: *Sighs* I bow under the weight of my critic's commentary. Yes, I have upped the rating, but mainly for the use of 'bastard' which may soil the eyes of my younger friends. Am having trouble with the next part, but hopefully will get there.  
  
Disclaim disclaim disclaim. I do believe you all understand this by now.  
  
CHAPTER 4 - Arrival  
  
There was a tension in the air.  
  
"All right you bastard," Vimes growled. "Just what exactly are you planning?"  
  
"I really don't know what you mean, Commander," Vetinari smiled, the very soul of gentility.  
  
If only he'd smirk, Vimes thought bitterly. Glance knowingly. Laugh. Even sneer a little. Not just sit there and raise his delicately formed eyebrows in that slightly injured, surprised manner, as though /I've/ done /him/ an injustice. Those eyebrows of his should be bloody confiscated. They're bloody not-so-concealed weapons.  
  
Of course, Vimes wasn't really angry at Vetinari. Oh, he was annoyed at him, and of course a large amount of the low-grade anger continually thumping around Vimes' body was sent in his direction, but currently the Commander of the City Watch was too worried to centre any sort of hard-core anger on anybody.  
  
He was worried about his family. Not about their safety or anything. In fact, he was having more and more reason to worry about his own safety. Because now all the Lords and Ladies had shuffled in (1) and Sybil and Sam were not among them (2). They weren't just late now. They were /fashionably/ late. Which Vimes just /knew/ the Assassins would be making note of and gloating over (4). And now he was wondering if his original idea of coming early so as to avoid being the centre of attention in a ghastly ceremony when he, Sam and Sybil arrived second last really made as much sense as he had thought it did.  
  
What Vimes did not realise, and probably would not have been pleased to realise, was that most of the dancers were worried about his family as well. Not about their safety or anything. In fact, they were having more and more reason to worry about their own safety. Because now the wizards had arrived, causing the drinks to be served, and Lady Sybil and young Lord Sam were not among the dancers. Which was a problem, because the First Course would not be served until all nobles arrived. And some of those dancers had been dancing for over five hours.  
  
There was a shuffling near the doorway. Everyone paused expectantly, glanced at the Patrician and started dancing again. The Herald cleared his throat.  
  
"His and Her Grace, Lady Sybil and Lord Samuel Vimes!"  
  
There was an embarrassed pause. Vimes tried to sink into his seat. Suddenly the Herald was jerked towards the door. White-faced, he scrambled back to the podium.  
  
"Her Grace, the Duchess Sybil Vimes, accompanied by her son, heir to the Duchy of Ankh-Morpork, Squire Samuel Vimes the Second!"  
  
There was another pause, followed by an anxious, "Did I get it right?" by the Herald.  
  
A sigh emanated from behind the door, then it swung open to reveal an elegantly clad young man accompanied by his far older and, well, /impressive/ mother.  
  
Despite his discomfit, Vimes couldn't help being proud of his small family. Sybil was gorgeous in blue and Sam - Sam was stunning. His brown hair was swept back from his face and his clean-shaven jaw bespoke careful preparation. He wore a red doublet on black pants with soft black dancing shoes. Around his neck hung a necklace given to him the day he was born by Lord Vetinari - the one item of jewelry Vimes, the veteran of many a street brawl, would let him wear. He looked like a noble, but a noble who had some idea of what he was doing - his father had trained him hard and, though mostly protected from such things, he had managed to involve himself in a few fights. He was not soft, and looking at him and his mother, Vimes suddenly didn't mind his social gaffe so much.  
  
Then the pair stepped forward, the moment broke, Vimes looked around at the faces staring at him and he remembered just where he was and why he'd always hated those bloody lords.  
  
What a pity he was one himself.  
  
(1) In order of rank, of course.  
  
(2) Neither was Carrot. (3)  
  
(3) But he wasn't a Lord, and didn't really count. Not a bit of it. What sword? What birthmark? Who is this Carrot person anyway?! /I/ don't know any Carrots. No Carrots in /this/ city. No sirree. What city?  
  
(4) Though dressing solely in black, spending most of their time in the shadows, not generally attending public functions (5), not endorsing jewelry or perfume and mostly being observed by themselves and, very briefly, those unfortunate citizens who had, thanks to a richer citizen, come to their attention, the Assassins were the authority on current fashion.(6)  
  
(5) Except on business.  
  
(6) Would you argue with a body of people who had successfully produced someone like Havelock Vetinari?  
  
Author's Commentary (Slightly different from an Author's Note): I think I went overboard slightly with the clothing description, don't you think? I must be getting soft in my old age. 


	5. A Later Arrival

A/N: I'm so sorry for not updating everybody. I know exactly what I want to happen after this, it's just that this is the in between stage and I have simply NOT been able to write it. You don't know how many times I've tried!  
  
Anyway, I've finally got something written, and even though I'm not completely satisfied I know if I don't post I'm not going to ever get this done! Oh, and I've noticed the comments about short chapters, so I hope you'll enjoy this longer one!  
  
Now, as thistledemon would say: A word to our sponsers.  
  
BellaShamharoth: Thanks! Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
rebecca: I'm glad you liked it, I have to admit the comment about the footnotes was flattering, that's always one of my favourite parts in Pterry's word. As for the pairing, well, that would be telling, wouldn't it? But I'm amused you thought one of them would be Sam. ^.^  
  
Chaos: I'm glad you like it! I'm trying to continue, but it's tough going. XP  
  
Chess: I want to bring forth the slash, I really do, I'm just afraid it's going to be a little subtle for most people's tastes. I'm glad you like Vetinari, and if you aren't familiar with the other characters then GO FORTH AND READ!!! Lol  
  
sacrelicious: I'm really glad you think that, the 'sharp wit' comment, really lifted me up! I'm glad you like that line too, I'm a little proud of that one. XD And don't worry, I won't let it die ... just have a holiday, maybe. ;D  
  
Eagle Lord: Awesome! You reviewed every chapter, thankyou! I like writing Vetinari, he has a certain flair that I wish I possessed, and writing Vimes is just so amusing. If you liked them too then I guess that's a job well done, thanks!  
  
Anyway, thankyou everybody!  
  
Enjoy!  
  
5: A Later Arrival  
  
Sam sat and watched the dancers, brooding. This glorified event designed to allow parents to introduce their young to society and surreptiously match them up with the person they'd be spending the rest of their lives with, though they didn't know it yet, was beginning to bore him. It seemed his original assumption that it was a chance for ladies to coo over their young (1) and show them off to each other was correct, not that it made any difference now. What was aggravating was that he also knew it was a long time coming. Though parents and children had all gotten to know one another in thousands of dinner parties and mother evenings, enough of the 'younglings' were now of age that they could be presented to society without fear of *too* many slip ups. And with the task of being presented to society certain ... tasks ... were expected to be completed, tasks that were watched with great interest, especially if you were the pre-eminent bachelor to be in Ankh-Morpork. Sometimes status could be *so* annoying. He cast his eyes around the room and sighed. Thankfully he did not seem to be required yet.  
  
He downed a glass of wine (more expected than approved of and he knew if his father saw him he'd be in for a hiding that wouldn't necessarily be delayed until he returned home) and thought of all the places he'd rather be than here. But seeing as he was here, and in truth there weren't really many places he enjoyed in the city, he muzzily decided he'd sit it out like a martyr and wait for Khye to appear. Yes. Khye might possibly be able to distract him.  
  
Khye was what his parents would have fondly described as his best friend, had they not been an evil-minded little sod who had floated to the top only because people like to believe Fate has a sense of humour (2) and a woman who was only here because her ancestors had been suspicious. (3) Khye and he were not, could not, ever be best friends, but they understood one another, were similar enough that they could tell each other the things that needed immediate comprehension, and were both smart enough to have a rather important piece of information about each other that the other would rather not get out. And besides, Khye had his mother's sense of humour, one of many things he'd inherited from her, and always knew the latest bit of gossip about anyone.  
  
He smiled as trumpets rang out and another glassful of wine flew down his throat. It was funny how trumpets always seemed to follow his Uncle Carrot around. Of course, it was a public secret that he was actually the heir to the throne and didn't want the job, but Sam had the feeling that Lord Vetinari would rather not take chances. The trumpets were almost like his way of saying 'yes, you are the heir and it can be good, but remember, there are always responsibilities as well.' Of course, most people would have thought of the trumpets as part of the luxury, but thankfully Carrot wasn't most people.  
  
Sam shook his head and chuckled as his 'uncle' entered the room. Typical of him to answer the trumpets in such an obvious way. 'Yes, there are luxuries and responsibilities that come with the crown but if you'll notice I already have a perfectly serviceable helmet and any extra weight may affect my thinking.' Not even his father had dared come to this event in armour, but Carrot had. Well polished armour, of course, but armour all the same. Sam noticed Vetinari's mouth tighten slightly, then turned his head back to watch the rest of the arrivals.  
  
Surprisingly the whole family had come, even Catherine, all dressed up in a pretty yellow dress. Sam had noticed that little girls were often dressed in yellow. Perhaps it was the only age they would accept the colour. At Carrot's side was Aunt Angua, stunning in a low-cut red dress that suited her figure perfectly. And coming at the rear, laughing at some private joke, came the two oldest, Khye and Raoul, twins, both dressed in royal blue. Sam rolled his eyes at the insinuation, then smiled as he noted that the twin's cockiness had caused them to create a nice entry palette of primary colours, something that their fashion-conscious crowd would make them rue. Aside from Carrot, of course, who was in his own brightly burnished metallic world. Slowly the dancers wheeled by Carrot and his family, each pausing to say hello. Sam sat back and waited to see just how long it would be before the twins could escape.  
  
**(1) There were rather a lot now. Sybil's pregnancy had started a wave of screaming children and harassed parents all over the Ankh side. Lord Vetinari had sent her a rather amused letter of thanks.  
  
(2) He does, but it's not the kind that laughs with the world.  
  
(3) They had the suspicion that their neighbour's properties were better than their own, and after the mess was cleaned up that suspicion was generally proved correct, along with the suspicion that an army and a battering ram at the castle gates will always do more than a battering ram alone.**  
  
After the formalities Carrot proceeded over to Vimes and Vetinari. Vimes couldn't keep his lips from twitching a bit. Even here the copper in Carrot shone through, though he had to admit the uniform accentuated it. He sighed to himself as he considered the uniform. He wished he'd had the idea or the guts to wear his, but truth be told he was starting to get a bit soft, and besides, when it came down to the kind of armour he was expected to wear these days and the clothing Sybil made him wear, he'd take the one that was at least *meant* to look idiotic.  
  
And besides...it was Carrot.  
  
It really was an odd thought that, and Vimes often wondered if anyone else shared it. Take Vetinari, for example, did he wake up in the morning, get faced with a stack of proposals from Carrot that totally changed his plans for the city and just shrug and say, "Shmeh. It's Carrot."  
  
Somehow he doubted it. (5)  
  
Even now, when every other bloody lord in this city basically genuflected when Carrot walked past, Vetinari remained the same as ever. It was a kind of ... antipathy ... Vimes supposed. While Carrot had loads of Charisma, enough to get two armies playing football, Vetinari had none. Carrot could have gotten Ankh Morpork to clean up their act and enter a good citizens competition, and not only would they have won *they would have enjoyed it*. Vetinari couldn't inspire a snail. *Organise* a snail, yes, but not inspire.  
  
And so, Vimes rather hazily figured, whenever they came into contact they kind've ... cancelled each other out. Like a big dark whirlpool, sucking up both of their influences until they could meet square on the playing field and look each other in the eye.  
  
At least, he concluded, they were the only ones who could meet each other's eye. Which he didn't necessarily envy in either of them.  
  
Take right now. Just *looking* at them was giving him the chills. Carrot was smiling and Vetinari had his eyebrows raised and beneath their lack of veneer was an arctic river filled with chunks of fast-flowing ice.  
  
"Interesting outfit, Captain," Vetinari was saying. "However, though it most definitely fits and certainly suits you, I was not aware this was to be a fancy dress party."  
  
"Neither was I, sir," Carrot replied, his honest brow crinkling. "I did have a suit, but I'm afraid it was ruined after I tried to fix the wheel on that coach you so generously provided. It took a while for help to arrive, so I had time to nip back home and change into something cleaner."  
  
"I see. And how close were you to the palace?"  
  
"Only a few blocks sir."  
  
"You run commendably fast, Captain. You don't look back, either, I've heard. I'm sure Rincewind would be proud of you."  
  
"Sir." Rincewind was not Carrot's favourite person.  
  
"You may go, Captain," Vetinari's mouth lifted in a decent attempt at a smile. "This isn't a report, you know."  
  
"Sir." Carrot started to turn.  
  
"Oh, and Carrot?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"*Do* try to enjoy yourself."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Hm," said Vetinari to himself. "First time he's given me a positive answer to anything in years."  
  
**(5) Which was entirely correct. Vetinari would never actually say something like that aloud. No, no, those thoughts were kept locked up safely in his head.**  
  
After many bows and curtsies the twins finally managed to extricate themselves and make their way over to where Sam sat. He noticed Raoul wasn't trying very hard. Not that that mattered. Someone and he didn't get on as well as he and Khye did. Raoul seemed to consider himself rather aloof.  
  
Sam grinned at them both as they neared him. "Late as usual, I see," he said.  
  
"Honestly, I *know* you servants aren't meant to know the meaning of punctuality or even common courtesy, but can't you at least make the *attempt*?"  
  
"Skulking, as usual," Raoul said. "Honestly, I know you Lordlings have two left feet which you're always putting in your mouths, but can't you at least make the *attempt*?" Khye finished.  
  
Sam laughed. "Nice. But seriously, why *are* you late?"  
  
Khye shrugged. "The usual. Dogbotherer sent a man to play around with the axle on our coach. It didn't take much to fix, but father made sure he got *filthy* doing it. Had absolutely *no* choice but to go home and get some clean clothes. Typically his 'clean clothes' were his uniform."  
  
"I would have thought he'd just have come running in this direction and made it before us."  
  
"No. I think he's finally realised that this is just going to keep going on until he meets Dogbotherer on his own terms. So he's doing what the man wants, but doing it in a way that shows he understands and isn't a threat."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Alright, I managed to avoid that the first time you said it by exerting all my powers of ignorance, but now I'm curious. Who exactly does 'Dogbotherer' refer to?"  
  
"Vetinari, of course!"  
  
"Really? And where did you pick that rather crude but slightly amusing nickname up from?"  
  
"What?" Raoul asked. "Don't think we're capable of inventing it ourselves?"  
  
"Actually I was going to say your wit was above it, but if you wish to insult yourself be my guest."  
  
"Please!" Khye said, waving his hands placatingly. "Just calm down!" Both boys looked at him a little oddly, and he smiled rather sheepishly. "Sorry. I just don't want this evening to go badly."  
  
"Your mum?" Sam asked sympathetically.  
  
"Worse," Khye answered.  
  
"Father," Raoul explained.  
  
"Oh." Sam understood. Mothers were bad, but when Fathers got themselves involved you knew one way or another all hell was going to break loose. The best you could do was stave it off for as long as possible.  
  
Khye nodded. "Anyway, you know how Father's always taking us around to see the sites of Ankh-Morpork?"  
  
Sam nodded. He used to be dragged along as well, but thankfully no more.  
  
Unfortunately the boys didn't have his level of freedom.  
  
"Well, this time we were taken to the Assassin's Guild." Sam's ears perked up. Perhaps there was some merit in viewing the civic sites of this great city.  
  
"Anyway, typically we were taken straight to the library, but we figured this time there might actually be something interesting, and there was!" Khye pulled something from his pocket. "There were a couple of old journals lying around, and you won't believe some of the first-class gossip written in these things." He grinned maliciously. "I bet Downey'd pay a fortune to get these back."  
  
Sam shook his head, but he was smiling nonetheless. "I'd watch yourself. You know the kind of trouble you could get in, blackmailing an Assassin?"  
  
"I'll be careful. Anyway, do you want a look or not?"  
  
"Don't be stupid." Sam took the books and started flipping through them. "Of course I want to look."  
  
Raoul stepped forward from the wall he'd been leaning on and said casually, "Well, enjoy yourselves and all that, but I've read them already and, frankly, that's my future wife over there and I'd much rather her delightful company than yours." He walked off with a purposeful gleam in his eye.  
  
The other two watched after him and Sam asked incredulously as he approached a girl, "Does he really mean that? About the wife and all?"  
  
Khye shrugged. "I don't know. He's so obsessed with getting a title of his very own and everything, he could be serious. But I think you'll find he'll dance with more than one girl tonight."  
  
"He's such a Lord," Sam said scathingly, ignoring the irony of the statement. Much of his life was like this, switching between arrogance, playfulness, streetwise and a dozen others. Already he was a successful social chameleon and at this point in time he was going back to his father's roots and the contempt for the upper classes that brought with it. It was often like that when Khye was around.  
  
"Anyway, read it." "I'm reading already."  
  
"You're not reading fast enough!"  
  
"Stop talking and I will!"  
  
There was a moment's pause, then, "Want to see a trick?"  
  
"Whatever." Sam's head didn't lift,  
  
Undiscouraged, Khye continued, weaving his hands intricately. "And then you do this, then this, and then you -"  
  
There was a yelp and Sam lifted up his hand, which was currently closed over that of a little girl in a yellow dress. "And then you break the hand of the sneak who was trying to pickpocket you."  
  
Khye gaped. "You know this one too?"  
  
Sam grinned. "Nobby's my uncle as well you know."  
  
"Wh-"Khye's face grew angry. "He set me up!"  
  
"Probably. You know Nobby."  
  
"Why that little - that little -"  
  
Sam laughed and lifted Catherine up. "Come on Khye," he said. "The banquet's ready. Let's eat."  
  
*smiles* Bon Appetit.  
  
I hope you liked! Will try to get the next chapter up soon. 


	6. May I Have This Dance?

A/N: Well, here's the next chapter! Two reviews, but still a better response than to my first post of this fic. I'm not entirely sure where to go after this, am currently just basking in the fact of a chapter well written (kind've XD), and having finally produced what this whole fic was created for. ... Partially. If it works .... Maybe you should just go read, yes?  
  
Anyway, I'm thinking two more chapters, three tops. So tell me what you think, what you want, etc. etc. *grins* I don't want to have to beg!  
  
And now, a word to our sponsors:  
  
evanine: um ... yes. I've been getting there. And I'm sorry if you wanted more quotes. I think there's going to be less and less as the fic gets more serious. And it's really getting into the serious stage now. Sorry about the length. XP Just review anyway! XD  
  
BellaShamharoth: Now that I think about it ... you're right. It is a wrong thought. I don't know WHAT I was thinking! XD But it seems to have turned out alright, yeah? Oh, and I like to guess either. But tell me who you thought at the end of this chapter. You might be right. ;D Oh, and seeing as you liked the increased chapter ...  
  
Enjoy everybody!  
  
Chapter 6: "May I Have This Dance ...?"  
  
The banquet passed quickly and the food even quicker(1). After the meal was over the mothers watched their children eagerly and the fathers went off to corners to chat and throw occasional glances in the direction of the progeny as well.  
  
The children themselves, or perhaps they would prefer the term adolescents, showed signs of nervousness and behaved generally in the manner of a herd, each trying to make sure they were neither leading nor trailing behind. Eventually, however, a few of the kinder adults lead the way onto the dance floor, making it possible for a few of the bolder children to follow without too much embarrassment.  
  
Khye, who was leaning on the railing of the balcony overlooking the Hall, looked at Sam, who was leaning beside him. Then, carefully looking back down at the nervous dancers below he said, "You really should have started that off."  
  
Sam sighed. "I know." He didn't need to voice the rest of the sentence, that it was expected of him as the oldest of the younglings and the future Duke of Ankh. That whoever he chose to dance with had a good chance of consideration as future Duchess.  
  
"Oh well, Raoul has happily taken your place," Khye pointed out. "Maybe that will satisfy them."  
  
"No," Sam negated. "Unfortunately it's me they require. The dancing hasn't really started until I go down." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Odd, isn't it? Thousands of years ago the bravest hunter in the tribe was allowed first choice of his bride. In order to gain that title he had to go out with a flask of water and a flint knife and he couldn't return until he had killed a leopard. Whoever returned with the leopard was eligible for marriage, and whoever had the biggest leopard got first choice. In effect you hunted out your wife."  
  
Khye stared at him, unsure of what relation this had to the event they were currently participating in.  
  
Sam continued, enlightening him somewhat. "Today the title's hereditary, the hunt is somewhat more civilly cloaked in guise of a dance, and somehow I think the majority of the young men down there would prefer to face the leopard." He sighed. "I know I would."  
  
Khye looked at him incredulously. "You're not afraid of women are you?"  
  
Sam smiled wryly. "It would be nicer if that was the answer. But that's not it, I'm afraid. It's just that -" he waved his hands around as though searching for the words, and as he did so Khye noticed the goblet he carried, "I don't want to perform some outdated ritual that quite frankly bores the living daylights out of me. I don't want to have my future wife decided on from one dance that, in the long run, isn't going to say anything at all about wether or not she's capable of running a household or managing an estate, or even if she has childbearing capacities! I just want the chance to -"  
  
"Fall in love," Khye finished wryly, with one eyebrow quirked in curious disbelief.  
  
"No." Sam shook his head, smiling slightly at the absurdity of the idea. "That's a fool's game, especially at our level." He shuddered slightly. "And worse than that, it might possibly come true!" They both cringed at the idea of a fairy tale ending. Fairy tales meant you were trapped forever. "I just want a chance to enjoy myself."  
  
There was a pause. Khye wasn't really sure he understood.  
  
"You mean you want to have adventure, to get in trouble, to spend a night on the town?" he ventured.  
  
Sam shook his head. "No, that's all what everyone thinks I should do. I just want to do something because I enjoy it. Not because it's expected of me. Not because it has some deeper meaning." He gestured to the dance floor. "I want to go and dance with one of those girls because it would be nice to relax and take a spin on the floor, not because I'm interested in them or trying to curry favour. Not because my mother expects me to be friends with this family and my father wants me to avoid that one."  
  
"You could dance with a commoner."  
  
"You know where that would end." They exchanged a look and said almost simultaneously, "Fairy tale ending."  
  
"No."  
  
"No."  
  
"Well," now that he saw the problem, Khye was determined to help his friend solve it. "I suppose -" he paused, trying to make sense of the thoughts he knew could help. "I suppose ... it's a matter of attitude, isn't it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well," the boy struggled to explain. "Because of the way we're raised, we have almost a sixth sense about the social world, right?"  
  
Sam smiled. He knew what his friend meant, but this was rarely a subject for discussion. "Yes."  
  
Encouraged, Khye continued. "The twitch of a finger, an inflection or the lack of it, says worlds to us, yes?" He hurried on without waiting for validation or the lack of. "Even if we don't realise it in that way, we still automatically interpret all these signals, right?"  
  
"Yes, but what is your point?"  
  
"Well ...you could just give different signals."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, you have to dance with someone, otherwise you wouldn't still be here, and you can't just go down there, choose a girl and then not act accordingly, because that would be an insult."  
  
"So what are you suggesting? I thought not acting accordingly was the plan?"  
  
"No, it's a matter of approach. You can't show you know what you're doing and then misbehave, but if you went down there with this happy air as though you were just here to enjoy yourself, and didn't realise the significance of what you're doing, then you could get away with not acting as expected. Sure, you'd lose some face, but people would just assume you hadn't been trained properly, not that you were deliberately insulting them."  
  
"Which makes me look like a right pillock."  
  
"Or you could resign yourself to the altar right now."  
  
Sam glared at his friend. Was there some other motive here ...? He pushed the suspicion to the back of his mind. His father and Khye's were good friends, there was no reason to believe the next generation couldn't be as well. "All right, I see your point."  
  
"Excellent. The next question is, who are you going to dance with?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, we want you to kind've wander vaguely up to her, but I suggest planning your target before hand is a good move. So, what about her?"  
  
"Too fat."  
  
"Her?"  
  
"Too thin."  
  
"Her?"  
  
"She's just a little girl!"  
  
Khye sighed to himself. He couldn't understand what was wrong with his friend. It couldn't be that he was backing out, once Sam made up his mind he was loathe to change it. But it seemed that none of the girls here could satisfy him. This could take a long time.  
  
"Her?" he continued.  
  
"Flat-footed."  
  
"Her?" Khye pointed to another at random. Sam grimaced. This really was too much, Khye didn't appear to have any taste at all. Of course, he had no idea that Sam wasn't really interested in any of these girls. The second Khye had suggested his brilliant idea that Sam just go out there and have fun, Sam knew that would be impossible with any of the female partners presented to him. He had grasped that almost as soon as he walked in. Because, in Sam's estimation, none of these girls could dance. And if Sam was going to enjoy himself, he wanted to do it with a truly great dancer.  
  
Unfortunately none seemed to be presenting themselves. Now if only he lived in Quirm, where the girls were said to be as fluid as water! Alas, no.  
  
Rebuffing another of Khye's choices, Sam's eyes wandered over to his father. Now, there was an idea! But no, it would never work. Sighing, he attended Khye's voice once more, and quickly gave a negative to the horrible lass in the lavender frock. This could take a long time...  
  
**(1) Unsurprising considering the amount of wizards attending.**  
  
"...and so really sir, this is all a very advanced form of mating ritual, or so it's been explained to me," Carrot finished.  
  
"Really?" Vimes was astonished. He'd never realised his wife and all those interchangeable Emma's could be this devious. "And they've all planned it out just like that?"  
  
"Oh no, sir, it's not a conscious thing, they just act that way because they're programmed to."  
  
Vimes raised an eyebrow at his Captain. He very highly doubted that the females that surrounded him didn't deliberately plan out and execute every single action just described by the unfortunate Carrot with an awareness and intensity that would terrify the average male. Carrot was probably earning himself sweetness points in someone's book by failing to realise this, but the sensitivity score would have dropped tremendously at the description of females being 'programmed'.  
  
He shook his head and turned to Vetinari, who was sitting on his other side and staring with a bemused expression at the whirling couples on the dance floor. Despite his apparent inattention Vimes was certain he had heard every word of the conversation.  
  
"What do you think then, sir?" he asked the taller man.  
  
"That we are surrounded by lovely and efficient ladies who would not appreciate a slander to their name." He turned and almost smiled at Vimes. "And who I would not wish to slander."  
  
Vimes nodded. He felt the same way, though in slightly cruder form.  
  
"Of course, if what Captain Carrot suggests is true, then one wonders why it is that your son has not joined the festivities Commander," he added. "It puts quite a large hole in the Captain's theory, especially considering your wife was one of the principle organisers of this event."  
  
Vimes looked around, surprised. He hadn't really been paying much attention to his offspring, who, though guarded in quite an over-protective manner for most of his young life, had, in Vimes' opinion, quite enough attitude to look after himself these days. Despite this he had been sure his son would be in the middle of things, soaking up the attention and eagerly following one of his favourite past times, dancing.  
  
"I'll go look for him if you want sir," offered Carrot. "I think I'd better go and collect Catherine anyway." The young girl was enthusiastically eating the flowers set around the room.  
  
Vimes nodded and settled back into his seat, feeling guilty pleasure at not being forced to get up and walk around. His body wasn't as fit as it used to be. Too many big dinners... He suddenly realised that Vetinari had said something to him, and startled, he quickly switched his blank expression on and turned back to the man who ruled Ankh-Morpork.  
  
"So, do you know what to do?" asked Khye.  
  
"I know. And anyway, aren't I supposed to not plan things out fully, in case it looks too contrived?" Sam grinned cheekily.  
  
Khye rolled his eyes. "Get out of here you big lug," he grinned, giving his friend a push.  
  
Smiling, Sam set off down the stairs, but subtly, so that few people noticed. His heart was thumping and he was finding it a bit difficult to breathe, but instead of suppressing it he allowed his cheeks to flush, his eyes to sparkle, and a lock of hair to fall rakishly over one eye. Fun. It must look as though he was having fun.  
  
From up on the balcony Khye watched Sam thread his way through the edge of the crowd, not in centre enough to disturb things, but not as far away as to attract attention. He frowned as he saw Sam change direction, heading away from the girl they'd agreed on. As he passed by the drinks table Khye saw him hesitate, and was terrified for a moment that he'd stop for a bolstering wine. That would ruin everything. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw him pass it by, but his frown deepened as he realised a few people were starting to notice the young noble. *Slow down!* he mentally projected. Not that it did anything. And then his heart lurched as he realised, oh so much sooner than everybody else, just where Sam was heading.  
  
Sam realised a few people were watching him, so he calmed himself slightly, smiled at them, and continued walking. Slightly suspicious they turned back to whatever they'd been doing, momentarily pacified. He knew Khye would have noticed the change in plans by now, but he hoped no else would have any suspicion of what he was going to do. Even if they did though, nothing could have stopped him at this point.  
  
Working his way slowly around the room, he finally came to his destination.  
  
Carefully he walked up the three steps to the slight recess where people could sit and relax. He was so careful the current occupants did not even realise he was there until he was standing in front of them. The other nobles, however, had noticed, and Sam could feel their eyes on his back. Ignoring them, he steeled himself and calmly met the enquiring gazes of the two men sitting in front of him.  
  
Before they could say anything, he bowed slightly and extended his hand. "Lord Vetinari," he said as calmly as he could, "may I have the honour of this dance?" 


End file.
